


The Melting Point of Gold

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Explosions, Gen, Graphic Description, Infiltration, Prompt Fic, Undercover Missions, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-14 21:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Relatively speaking, Gold has one of the highest melting points of any metal- turning into a liquid at 1,943 degrees Fahrenheit.It's a damn shame that humans aren't made out of gold.





	The Melting Point of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually one part to a much larger story that I never got around to finishing (mainly because I haven't found the energy it takes to rewatch the Chorus trilogy) but at seeing that the second day's prompt was explosions, I knew that I had to bring this back! After the event is over, I will be returning to this fic and making it multi-chapters so there will be more to it!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

When you've been around the Reds and Blues for a long time you start to understand that in life there are few things that are concrete facts.

Sarge would never give up the whole Blue hatred that he had going on. Fact. Church always seemed to come back. Fact. 

Dexter Grif wasn't a competent soldier.  _ Fact. _

So there is nothing more baffling than the fact that  _ he, one Dexter Grif, _ was on this super important mission for the New Republic. Squatting down next to Locus who was surveying the Fed base that they were supposed to be infiltrating. 

"They've tightened their security," Locus stated plainly, lowering his sniper rifle.

"Why am I here again?" Grif complained, following Locus as the man got up from his position, slinging the sniper rifle against his back.

Locus ignores him, heading back towards the passage Gold Team was hiding in.

Ugh, typical mercenary. Never answered  _ any _ of his questions, leaving  _ him _ to  _ lead _ people. It was  _ annoying. _

Not for the first time since getting separated, Grif wishes that Locus hadn't given up on training Tucker especially.

In the beginning, the four of them were placed directly into the hands of Locus under the guise that he would train them so that they would be ready to become captains of teams, with people being trained under them. 

And it was clear that compared to the other three, it was Tucker who was the most ambitious and angry about getting the rest of the group back.

He did well in the initial days, and Grif would have to be an  _ idiot _ to not notice how Locus had been focusing a little more on him than on the others. 

Which was fine at first, until it wasn't.

Out of nowhere, Locus had declared that Tucker was too careless, too unwilling to consider the consequences of his actions, and was just an overall liability.

And just like that Tucker- the one who probably would have been the best candidate for actually saving the others- was set back.  _ Far _ back.

Because even though Kimball didn't trust Locus as far as she could throw him, she respected his opinion. And if he thought that Tucker wasn't a good leader, then he wasn't.

So even though he'd be the only one to actually complete the team courses, she'd always have something to say- some critique on how he could've been better, done  _ more. _

And it was driving the aqua-colored soldier up the fucking wall.

It almost felt like Locus had done that on purpose, but Grif couldn't speak for the man no matter how hard he tried. The dude was an enigma, closed off tighter than fucking Alcatraz.

Grif figured, that after the failure of Tucker, that the four of them would advance- or, more likely, be stuck in the trial testing stage- the same.

But then Locus had caught Grif sneaking into kitchens late one night. He'd been so careful, even keeping track of what technique's he had used in the idea that perhaps he'd pass them down onto the rest of Gold Team and that they could make a thing out of it. A sure-fire way for him to stock up on snacks with added help.

And he had thought that he  _ did _ get away with it too. He had the snacks in his hand as he was heading back towards his and Simmons' room, giddy at the idea that he wouldn't have to wait long before he could enjoy some sugary goodness when he bumped into something- or rather,  _ someone. _

Grif had yelped the  _ second _ that he saw who  _ exactly _ it was that he had bumped into. And he had genuinely, truly, without a doubt in his mind, thought that the mercenary would kill him where he stood for stealing valuable- and limited- resources, or that he would drag him to Kimball so that  _ she _ could kill him.

But he did neither of those things. All he did was stare him down for some time before disappearing with the help of his camo unit, and Grif had to really strain to hear his near-silent footsteps leave the hallway before he even  _ dared _ to pick up his snacks and book it back to his room.

To say that he was wound up tight with nerves the next day would have been an understatement.

And yet, Locus had managed to surprise him, pulling him aside during training, informing him that he would be focusing on his infiltration skills and that it would be expected of the soldiers under his command to follow in the same. 

Which lead to not only the most  _ grueling _ training that he's ever experienced in his life- making him regret ever taking Wash for granted- but to his being on this mission.

Locus stood in front of Grif's soldiers, and the poor kids looked like they were on the verge of passing out because of his scrutiny.

"The mission priority is as follows," Locus began, turning towards Grif. "The Federal Army has increased the number of soldiers at this base, therein making our original purpose moot. Instead, we are to plant C4 explosives in central locations to maximize the damage of the outpost."

"So we're not even going to try to get information from their computers," Grif asked, confused on why they didn't just  _ leave _ if they couldn't get what they actually needed.

"I am aware of your concern to find your comrades and to learn of their whereabouts, Captain Grif," Locus told him. "But you are more likely to get captured as well in your attempts to do so. You know your priority now, so do as followed."

"You won't find me complaining," Grif mumbled. 

"As you  _ shouldn't," _ Locus growled. "As to your soldiers, you are to direct them on where they're to place the explosives."

"Yeah, yeah," Grif rolled his eyes, eternally grateful that he had a helmet to hide his face. Turning to his soldiers, he hesitated, not really comfortable with leading.

"Uh," he started. "I feel like I should tell you guys to strategically hit things that look important, but that sounds like something Simmons would want to do. So instead, just place them in a way that will set off a chain reaction, from the outer rim of the base to the inner. The idea is that you guys  _ won't _ get caught by going near things that are actually being guarded."

"And what about you, Captain?" Matthews asked, his normally cheery deposition tainted with what Grif figured was probably fear.

"I'll take out the computer," he shrugged. He didn't want to do anything, leaders were supposed to kick back and delegate, but he had a feeling that if he didn't give himself something to do, Locus would find something even more complicated for him. "I have the most experience sneaking around and shit, so I won't get caught. Probably."

"Yeah, about that," this time it was Bitters who spoke up. "Just how do you expect us to sneak around?"

"Maybe we can disguise ourselves," one of his other soldiers piped up, placing a hand on her chin. "Like, let's knock out some Feds and steal their armor."

"I really doubt that would work, Mill," his fourth member said. "How are we supposed to knock out enough Feds to get armor for all of us?"

"Well-" Mills tried to continue the topic but quieted down when Locus turned his gaze back towards them all.

"Enough chatter," although he never raised his voice, it felt like he was yelling at them by the way they cowed before him. "Silence on comms when the mission starts."

He walked away but didn't supply an answer to the privates on how they were supposed to proceed.

Stepping up to the plate, Grif told them, "Listen, I know you guys weren't sleeping during training- believe me, I wish that's what he had done instead- so don't panic and just remember what you were taught and you'll be fine. But just remember this-"

They all leaned a little bit towards him, eager- less so in Bitters’ case, more so in Matthews- to hear what wise words of advice that he had to give.

"-make sure that I don't die," he concluded. "I'm the most important, obviously, so don't do something stupid that I'll have to pull you out of. Because if caught we're  _ all _ gonna die, ok?"

"Got it," they chorused.

Turning to look at Locus, he can feel the impatience brimming off of the man, and knew that they couldn't stale any longer. 

"Comms off unless you  _ absolutely _ need to use them," he said. "Let's go."

Having grabbed the C4, they all headed off in different directions. Every time that Grif had to wait for a Fed soldier to pass all he could think about was how useful it would be if he had an active camo unit like Locus had. But, he doesn't, so he just has to make do with standard infiltration tactics.

And strangely enough, the inside of the base wasn't nearly as guarded as the outside of it. But since it made his job easier, like hell would Grif complain about it.

Heading towards the computer, he pulls out the C4 placing it underneath the dashboard. Activating the timer, he's satisfied with a job well done, and turns to leave.

But he stops not even a step away from the dashboard. The computer behind him could possibly have information about where the others were.

And he was going to blow it all up.

Looking back at the tantalizing monitor, he debates on what he should do, knowing that he's on a time limit and that there was possibly no way for him to download everything.

He has some time. Were it any of the others- were it Tucker- they would at least try to find something- anything. But there would be plenty of other bases to raid.

But no guarantee that they'd have the information they need. There wasn't even a guarantee that  _ this _ one would have it either.

Grif should at least try.

Placing his hands against the dashboard, it lights up at the movement, and thankfully it was still logged in and open. Opening up the finder, he tries any sort of keywords, trying to see if maybe he could find  _ anything _ about some Fed stronghold, or, fuck if he knows, something-  _ anything. _

There's no way in hell that Grif would cut it close with the detonation of the C4, he didn't like the odds of that type of gamble.

He'd give it thirty more seconds, if anything didn't catch his eye then he'd-

A file name catches his attention, and quickly slamming the drive that he had brought with him into the port, he copies over that one file. Due to the small amount of data needing to be transferred, he can pull out the damn thing and get a move on.

Sneaking out of the base is way more stressful than heading in, because all he can think about in the back of his head, is that any minute now the building would be reduced to smithereens, and he would prefer to not be on the receiving end of that blast.

In the midst of his heart pounding against his chest, he manages to make his way back to the rendezvous point, a feeling of something going wrong surging in the back of his thoughts.

The whole thing had been too easy in his opinion. Even his risking getting the file went off without a hitch. But Grif's didn't tend to have  _ good _ luck, and right now he was waiting for some other shoe to drop.

"Ok, attendance time," he announces as he gathers close by to his kids. He counts them off with his fingers as he calls out their names, "Mills, Cooper, Bitters, Mat-"

Where was Matthews.

"Bitters, where's Matthews?" he whirls to the soldier.

There's a nervousness to his tone that Grif has never heard from the kid as he says, "I don't know."

He wants to turn on his radio, but the reminder that they had been instructed to turn off their comms hits him like a freight train.

There's no way that he'd be able to find the kid with the timer counting down. And with his comms off there'd be no way to contact him.

There's a creeping factor of guilt that enters his bloodstream and courses through his entire body.

And before he even knows what he's doing, he's snatching the sniper rifle right off of Locus' back, ignoring the way that the mercenary growls at him, and heading straight towards the opening to the spot that they're in.

He's looking for any sign of Matthews’ armor, trying to see if he's close by, and right when he was about to give up and accept the berating from Locus he sees a hint of beige armor.

In an extremely unlike Grif move, he throws the gun down and races off in that direction.

He doesn't really know  _ why _ he's doing it. He doesn't even  _ like _ Matthews- the kid reminds him about everything he hates about putting in an effort.

But if there's anything that Grif's learned from his entire military career, it's that no cause is worth dying for.

And that goes doubly so when your life is put at stake by someone with more authority than you.

Grif isn't going to let Matthews die under his orders. He might as well brand himself across the forehead with the word  _ 'hypocrite' _ if he even tried to let that happen.

And maybe it's the adrenaline deafening his hearing or the way that the whole design of the base is rather close-knit because he's at Matthews’ side before he can even realize that he  _ left _ the hideout.

The poor kid's struggling to pull off a piece of rubble from on top of his foot, and it's only when he notices Grif at his side that one hand snaps up to turn on his radio, exclaiming, "Captain Grif?!"

He ignores him for the moment, gripping the rubble and shoving it harshly off the kid, not feeling guilty at the yelp of pain that came from the action.

Yanking the poor soldier up and off of his feet, he says, "Literally  _ what _ did I tell you?"

He's dragging Matthews away, not trusting the kid to follow fast enough, and guilt eats away further at him at hearing the kid say, "I'm sorry, Captain, I know! I tried to get it off myself and- I didn't want you to risk your life, if- if I couldn't-"

Oh, him and his big mouth.

Despite how quickly it seemed that he was able to get to the kid, he can feel the timer creep closer and closer to zero.

There's no way they were going to make it, and considering he wasn't sure where  _ any _ of the C4 was placed, makes a paranoia grow in him something furious. 

The timer's crept lower than a minute.

There was no time, and the hideout wasn't anywhere in sight, there was just no way  _ they were not going to make it- _

_ Ten. _

"Get down," he snapped at Matthews despite throwing him down onto the ground himself. 

Then without a second thought, he slammed his body against his effectively shielding him. In what he made to look like a struggle, he flipped Matthews' radio off and slipped the drive into his hand, closing the private's fingers around it tightly.

_ Nine. _

If Matthews made any sort of sound in surprise, Grif couldn't hear it over the shouts of concern from his other soldiers.

_ Eight. _

Locus is surprisingly radio silent, but if Grif had to wager a guess, he likely considered Grif and Matthews an unfortunate casualty of the mission.

_ Seven. _

It wasn't as if  _ nobody _ ever died on missions.

_ Six. _

That'd be absurd, this was a  _ real _ war after all.

_ Five. _

But things had always been different for the Reds and Blues.

_ Four. _

He can hear the panic in Bitters’ voice, and normally he'd make a comment on it, but he knows that the kid must be out of it with concern.

_ Three. _

Grif really should turn his radio off, but there are only a few seconds left and he doesn't want to let any opening slip.

_ Two. _

He's not afraid as he should be, and a part of him thinks that he should be scared out of his mind, but he's not.

_ One. _

He's survived worse before, but Matthews? The poor kid would be  _ toast. _

A little fire couldn't kill one Dexter Grif.

At least, that's what he thought before pitch blacked seeped in and consumed his vision, his eyes clenched tightly. The sound of the explosions deafened his ears, and he has to resist the impulse to raise his hands to his ears knowing that they had to stay put to provide cover for Matthews and that they would just slam against his helmet anyhow. An intense searing pain making him see stars behind closed eyelids, gritting his teeth harshly enough so that he was sure that he must have cracked a tooth.

He opens his mouth to gasp from pain, but really all that did was open up the gateway for his screams.

Grif's not really sure when it's all over. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a universe where Locus and Felix merely switched spots during the Civil War, they still have the same motives but it's sorta exploring what would have happened if it was Locus with the New Republic and Felix with the Feds. 
> 
> If you have a need to contact me or want to yell at me, you can find me at my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


End file.
